Emit Levart
by Thorin the Dwarf
Summary: What happens when you mix Sherlock Holmes and Emit Levart?
1. Emit Levart

"Hmm…" I muttered, still half asleep. I rolled over in my bed, but it wasn't my bed. It wasn't even my couch. I frowned without opening my eyes. None of my family smoked, and yet I could swear I smelled smoke.

" 'Hmm' what?" asked an unfamiliar voice, seemingly directly over my head. I jumped, and my eyes flew open. I found myself gazing into the eyes of a complete, or so I thought at the moment, stranger, in a completely unknown household. The stranger had a pipe in his mouth, and was dressed as though from another time-period. I held back the startled cry that rose in my throat, though I was sure everyone in the room could hear my heartbeat. I attempted to calm my breathing down, but failed. The figure above me seemed quite amused.

"I-I… How…" I tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. The strange man silenced me with a finger and laid a hand on my shoulder. He was obviously trying to calm me down, but was so far failing. It took me a moment, but I eventually calmed myself down enough to be able to take in my surroundings. I recognized everything at once. The armchair drawn up by the fire, the picture of a certain woman on the mantle, and especially the man who had just seated himself next to me on the Victorian sofa. I had somehow ended up at 221b Baker Street, with Sherlock Holmes sitting next to me.

"You…" I muttered. I could hardly believe what was happening. Had it really worked? Was it possible? If so, what was I going to tell Angela? Would she even believe me?

"What about me?" Holmes asked, startling me out of deep thought.

"You-your… Sh-Sherlock Holmes!" I blurted. I couldn't help but realize how idiotic I must have sounded. After all, if it had worked, he wasn't legendary yet. But I couldn't help the fact that he was _the_ Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes," he replied, "and you are?"

I could barely breathe now. I couldn't risk my real name, could I? What difference would it make? I thought quickly, and went with the first name that came to mind. "You can call me Julia Peirce," I said with practiced ease. My friend Angela and I had practiced using fake names in case the need ever arose to use them without appearing to be lying.

"That will do for now," he replied, a slight smile touching his features, "I'll get the truth out of you eventually." If anyone could drag the truth out of a hidden lie, it was Sherlock Holmes. I sighed, partly with frustration and partly in submission.

"Fine. My name isn't Julia Pierce, its Laura Saunderson." That much was easy. If I tried to explain where I had come from, he would think I was insane. Hopefully he wouldn't pry that far until I had a good idea of how to explain my situation without sounding like a lunatic.

Holmes nodded, and I sighed inwardly out of relief. Apparently he was saving the important questions for later. He suddenly rose from his seat and began pacing. "You are not from this time-period," he began, apparently not needing to ask questions to get answers. This could either be very good, or very bad. "You are from the future. Your clothing is not of this time-period, and not of the past. Your name isn't very popular in this era either, not to mention I have never heard of the Saundersons. It isn't an English name, which leads me to believe that you weren't born in England. Most likely you were born in the United States. AM I right so far?" He had stopped pacing and was now facing me, gazing intently into my eyes.

"Completely," I muttered. "You can under NO circumstances tell ANYONE about this. They will either think me insane or question my ability of time travel. If you need to talk to me about it in public, refer to it as 'Emit Levart', backwards for time travel. The only people who know so far are you, a friend of mine, and me. I trust this secret with you. You of all people should understand that this ability in the hands of the wrong people could and most likely would result in chaos." During my speech, Holmes had listened intently.

"Your secret is safe. Not even my good friend, Dr. Watson, will know about it," he swore. Something in his eyes told me he was thinking the same thing that I was. _Moriarty_.


	2. The One and Only

Moriarty was the one criminal no one wanted to mess with, not even Sherlock Holmes. He was the Napoleon of crime, the center of all criminal activity in London. If Moriarty had control of time travel, he might just be the first to take over the world. He would probably venture into the future first, and bring back what was to me modern, everyday technology, but to nineteenth century Londoners would mean world domination. Then again, if he succeeded, he would have already made it into the history books of my generation. Considering most people don't even know who Moriarty is, he obviously hadn't succeeded in anything close to world domination.

This idea reminded me that, in the twenty-first century, no one believed Sherlock Holmes ever existed. So unless a major time paradox were to occur, Moriarty wouldn't be succeeding in anything to mark a place in history whatsoever.

Through this entire train of thought I must have been gazing off into space for I now noticed Holmes gazing at me with an expression of curiosity on his face. I immediately snapped out of it, blushing slightly.

'You're not the only one,' Holmes' eyes seemed to say as they met mine in an awkward three second span. I returned the look with the message, 'I figured as much from you, Holmes', mainly sarcastically, but with an edge of truth. He smiled knowingly and we both snickered quietly.

"I have no doubt that you were thinking the same thing I was," I said aloud, breaking up the muffled laughter. Holmes nodded thoughtfully.

"You know of professor Moriarty, I assume?" He asked. I nodded briefly, fighting the urge to let my thoughts drift again, and tried to remain focused on the subject.

"If he knew about this…" I couldn't help but trail off. I didn't even want to _think_ of what Moriarty's first step would be if he knew about time travel. A sudden thought sent a shiver down my spine. I was the only one who knew how to time travel, and therefore, if Moriarty somehow discovered my secret, I would be the one he came after.

The sound of a grandfather clock made me jump. I glanced up at the face of the clock. It was nine-o-clock, and judging by the darkness outside it was in the evening, not morning. Not that it mattered. It would be the same time in my own time-period when I returned anyway. But the sight of it reminded me that I had woken up on the couch. I suddenly wondered if I had just ended up there, or if Holmes had moved me from my original position.

"Where was I when you found me?" I asked suddenly, startling Holmes slightly.

"You nearly drown in the river. Why do you ask?" He seemed surprised that I didn't remember it.

"I only remember waking up on the couch. I can't remember anything else before that. How did I end up in the river?" For a moment I thought it might have been where I 'landed' when I first arrived in the nineteenth century.

Holmes' next words worried me even more. "You fell from a window, five stories high."

The memory rushed back suddenly, robbing me of my senses for a moment. "I didn't fall; I was pushed, by a man." The shock from the memory left me barely able to answer Holmes' next question.

"What did he look like?" I frankly didn't know how to respond to that. I hadn't seen much of him before I was falling from around fifty feet in the air.

"He was wearing black gloves and a black cloak. His push wasn't weak, but it wasn't what I expected for his height. That's all I can describe. I didn't see anything else." There was only one person who fit the minute description so far. Holmes seemed to agree with his eyes. And of course, it had to be Professor James Moriarty. The one and only Professor Moriarty.


	3. We Meet Again

I stood up and stretched, trying to hide my fear. I wondered how long I had really been in Holmes' time period, and how much I had forgotten. Maybe I had even spoken to Moriarty himself and hadn't known it at the time.

"Is there anything I can do to regain my memory?" I asked Holmes. For a moment I was afraid he would offer to use one of his experiments on me. Luckily, he had a more practical idea.

"You need something to jog your memory. Something that would stimulate your senses, and thus your memory." He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I could go back to the room where I was when I fell," I suggested. "Maybe a certain piece of furniture in the room will remind me of what happened.

"Wonderful idea!" Holmes exclaimed. "With your permission, we can leave immediately." He rose and crossed the room in a few excited strides, grabbing a waistcoat off the coat-hook. I joined him in an instant, and we left the apartment. Holmes called a cab, and instructed the driver to take us to the dock on the river.

In about a half hour we were at the dock, and from there we walked to the building from which I had fallen. It was abandon, as I had imagined it would be. For the first time I wondered if there was a trap waiting inside for us. Perhaps Moriarty knew that Holmes would have seen me fall, and planned for him to return and investigate. If anything went wrong, Moriarty might kill his greatest enemy _and_ have the key to time travel.

Holmes seemed to think the same thing. He motioned for us to go around back. We found ourselves walking along a narrow walkway between the building and the river. From there we ascended a set of stairs to a door. Holmes tried the handle, only to find the door locked.

"Stand back," he instructed. I did as he asked and watched as he kicked open the door. He then drew a revolver from his pocket and led the way stealthily down the hall. After turning a few corners and climbing some stairs we finally reached the fifth floor. I noticed numbers on the doors as we advanced down the hall, getting larger as we moved along. 19, 20, 21, 22, 23… I stopped. Something about the number on the last door, 23, caught my eye.

"Holmes," I started. He stopped and turned around, facing me. "I think this is the room," I whispered breathlessly. Whatever was on the other side of the door, I knew I had to go in there. I had to know what had happened before Moriarty, or so we assume, pushed me out the window. I took a deep breath, then opened the door.

Inside, all was quite. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The room was nicely furnished. It appeared to be an old abandon sitting room. The only thing wrong with the quite seen was the candle on the table, still burning. It had been burning for quite awhile. The wax was almost completely melted, and only a small stub remained. I then recalled that that same candle had been burning the day before, when I was there. I crossed the room to a chair. I remembered sitting in it. I sat down in it once more, then gazed around at my new perspective of the room. I remembered everything now.

I had woken up in the chair, startled at my new surroundings. Feeling lightheaded, I immediately looked around for a window to open for fresh air. Spotting one, I had opened it. A sound from behind made me spin around. The next thing I knew I was falling at a greater speed than I thought possible for my weight.

A voice from behind the chair then startled me from my memory. "Well done, Holmes. You found me." Moriarty. So I was right.


End file.
